


Lost Without You

by jhoom



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25255498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: The Soldier escapes Hydra and follows the only lead he has to his past: Captain America, aka Steve Rogers, the only person alive who might know who the mysterious James Barnes is.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Lost Without You

**Author's Note:**

> another [Bad Things Happen](https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/) bingo square fill! today's prompts include: bound & gagged; tortured for information; slammed into a wall
> 
> come bug me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) about stucky and marvel :)

The Soldier goes rogue in 2013. They wake him up for some godforsaken mission, but he’s been under cryo a while. These handlers, they don’t know him. They read their little books with notes and warnings but don’t take it seriously. They don’t wipe him after the mission, they don't immediately put him in cryo, and they don't even restrain him when they leave the room.

And they talk. Loudly. 

Maybe they think they’re whispering as they go on about the Avengers and Captain America, returned from a frozen tomb. They didn’t read the other notes, maybe they don’t know the Soldier’s enhanced hearing makes it sound like they’re right next to him instead of in the next room. 

Granted, he doesn’t hear it all. Just pieces of things. 

“Captain America… the Asset… send him… caution…” 

“Barnes… wipe… too dangerous… Rogers…” 

On and on they go, sharing hushed secrets that the Soldier absorbs bit by bit. He should be in cryo, he should be a blank slate right now, but the names speak to him. Something forgotten and raw inside of him, something that he almost wishes weren’t there, because that would be easier. Safer. 

_For them,_ he decides. _It’d be safer_ **_for them._ **

They even left his weapons out, right there for him to use. It’s like they were asking for their incompetence to be punished. 

His old handlers would be proud at how quickly and efficiently he makes his escape. A single spray of bullets, and then he has the abandoned files they’d just _left out_. This is beneath him, their own complacency making it laughably easy to find everything he needs. 

_Oh well,_ he thinks. _Their loss._

One by one he collects the files, briefly inspecting their contents before taking them. They’re all packed full of papers—reports, newspaper clippings, photographs, some x-rays—and he can see why these new handlers would not be interested in perusing them as they should have. The Winter Soldier is a known quantity, after all; why read the manual when word of mouth has made him a legend among their ranks?

“идиоты,” he says under his breath. “ты это заслуживаешь.” 

_THE ASSET (PROTOCOLS & COMMANDS) _

_THE ASSET (MISSION LOG)_

_THE ASSET (ARM MAINTENANCE & SPECS) _

_THE WINTER SOLDIER (SKILL SET)_

_~~BARNES, JAMES B. (CODENAME:~~ _ **_THE ASSET_ ** ~~_)_ ~~

A folder labeled _ROGERS, STEVEN G. (CODENAME: CAPTAIN AMERICA)_ he grabs without knowing why it’s relevant, why he should care. He does care, he very much cares, and it’s a strange mix of selfish curiosity and a protective instinct he doesn’t understand. All he knows is he _does_ want this information, and he equally does _not_ want Hydra to have it. 

It doesn’t matter. If it’s useless, he can burn it. 

Burn it. Now there’s an idea. 

When he’s gotten everything he needs, everything even remotely useful for a man about to go into hiding and rediscover his past, he leaves the base in ruins. Smoke blends into the night sky, the flames creating a tomb for the bastards he leaves behind. 

~ ~ ~

The Soldier finds an abandoned apartment building and camps out in a scantly furnished apartment. The furniture and floorboards creak every time he moves, but the mice don’t seem to mind his presence. After days, he hasn’t seen another human being, so he stays. It’s safe here. He can work. 

The files are extensive. He learns about himself in clinical, disinterested terms. It’s not his own disinterest (or rather not _only_ his), but Hydra’s; he was only ever a tool to them, and they striped him of his humanity before they worked to shape him into what he now is. At some point along the way, he’s internalized their view of him and made it his own. 

He’ll do his best to reclaim it. Escape was a good first step, the first decision he’s made for himself in decades. 

Though… he thinks it was an old decision, one he’d made when they’d first strapped him to a table and set to work cutting out pieces of him they didn’t like. Escape would have been one of his first thoughts, one he likely tried to act upon if the extensive list of protocols to _prevent_ his escape are any indication. They wiped out everything they could, his past, his desires, and still this need for freedom stayed. 

What else is still there, lurking beneath what Hydra put in his head?

He saves the file on James Barnes. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s afraid to read it. There are enough ghosts following him now, Hydra agents and past misdeeds alike; he’s not sure if he needs another one. It’s necessary, though, that he knows the whole story. 

He opens the file and finds nothing but blacked out passes of redactions. He learns little more than a birthdate and immunization record, an army enlistment form and mention of a place called Azzano. It's useless, barely even a caricature of a man's life.

No longer afraid of being confronted by the ghost of James Barnes, he finds he's disappointed.

He suspects he was (is?) James Barnes, but the identity doesn’t resonate with him. That man is dead, and the Soldier’s not sure he can claim an identity he knows nothing about. 

Frustrated that his past before Hydra remains lost to him, he begins on the last file to distract himself. He has no real expectations when he begins to read about Captain America, and still he's stunned.

The beginning is trivial. Super soldier with abilities not unlike his own, it warrants no more than a glance. His interest is first piqued when he sees an army record. Not because it exists—a man who goes by "captain" of course has military ties—but because it's jarringly familiar. The Soldier doesn't understand why… until he reads "liberation of Azzano." 

Did he and this Captain cross paths? 

Greedily he looks for clues, but there are few. That the Captain knew Barnes is clear; words like "childhood friends" and "Howling Commandos" shape the relationship, but there is little more than that. And no, there wouldn't be. For all intents and purposes, Barnes has been dead for decades, nearly as long as the Captain's been missing in the Arctic. What did it matter if they were connected? _Both_ were gone.

Except… except the Soldier is free and the Captain's returned. 

There are new details about an attack on New York, new notes assessing him for weaknesses. And there are pictures. 

The Soldier looks through them, images of a one time friend, and he feels next to nothing. This man is a stranger, as unfamiliar to him as the man who starts back at him from the mirror. 

Well… there's maybe something in the eyes, the color of them or the shape. It draws him in, and he catches himself staring into grainy blue depths. 

And then he finds one lonely picture in the back. It's not the same man in the gaudy suit, muscular and confident. No, this man is smaller, weak. It's inconceivable to view him as a threat, and the Soldier wants to cast the picture aside because it's clearly been misplaced— 

The eyes. He has the same eyes. 

The Soldier brings the photograph so close it's only inches from his nose. It's all he can see, and after careful inspection… he thinks maybe he knows _this_ man. He no longer sees the small frame and think how easily he could break it; he sees an indomitable spirit trapped by a body that threatened to give out on him. And he thinks he sees himself, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulder and pulling him close.

It's the closest thing to a memory he has, and he's determined to follow it. 

There's only one person out there who might have the answers he needs… and that man is Steve Rogers.

~ ~ ~ 

Steve is caught off guard when it happens.

One minute he’s walking down a crowded DC street with a coffee in hand and every intention of visiting some museums, the next he’s getting slammed into a wall in some back alley. It vividly reminds him of about a hundred other times he’s gotten his ass kicked in random alleys, mostly because it _hurts_. His ears are ringing and he’ll be bruised for sure, and there’s a strong, cold arm pressed into his back and keeping him pinned to the wall even when he tries to struggle. 

He’s been taken by surprised _and_ overpowered, and that’s concerning, right? There shouldn’t be too many people out there that can do that to Captain America, even on his days off. 

Then there’s the prick of a needle going into his neck, the telltale cold spread of liquid pushing into his veins and fuck, this is so much worse than he’d thought— 

When Steve comes to, he’s chained to a ceiling with both hands bound above him. He’s gagged, trapped without even the padding of his suit to protect him, and he’s wondering why he didn’t agree to wear that Shield tracker after all. 

_Because it’s fucking creepy and invasive as hell,_ he thinks, and yeah, that’s still true. Guess that means he’ll have to deal with this on his own, though.

He should be able to break free of the chains, but his first attempts earn him nothing but more bruises. The chains might not hold him forever, but the drugs still in his system will sure help. His head’s relatively clear, that’s a plus; it does make it painfully obvious that his body is _not_ cooperating. He hangs limply from the chains, not even to get his feet under him and take the strain off his wrists. 

It occurs to him that he should pretend to be asleep until he figures things out. If he draws attention to himself, whoever it was that took him in will check in, make sure he’s dosed enough not to escape. 

Sure enough, he’s rustled the chains enough that someone comes. Steve can’t see so much as feel the presence lurking in the shadows. He tries to relax, to feign sleep, but his arms keep twitching and there’s a tension in his back he can’t quite smooth out despite his best efforts. Anyone good enough to get this far won’t be fooled.

“Captain America,” a muffled voice says as a man appears appears from the darkness. He’s dressed all in black, including the mask that hides the lower half of his face and the goggles covering his eyes. 

The man steps forward and pushes the gag down, and Steve instinctively knows this is an interrogation. Fun.

“Seems you got me at a disadvantage,” Steve says. His tongue’s a little numb, but he gets the words out. They’re mostly coherent, at least. “Friends call me Steve, though.”

The man stands there, looking at him and Steve really wishes he could see his eyes to get a read on the guy. Because a guy who could take him out like that could’ve killed him, too. There’s a way out of this mess, he just has to figure it out. 

“We are not friends,” the man finally says, and then he takes out a knife. He turns on a light, blinding Steve until he steps forward and shields him from it just enough to meet the obsidian gaze. “I need information.” 

“Figured. Probably not giving it to you, though.” 

The metal blade rests against his cheek now. It’s not the sharp edge, it’s not cutting him yet, but the warning is clear enough. No, not a warning. Warnings might be all bluff and no follow through. This? This isn’t a man who makes idle threats; this is a promise. 

“You don’t even know what I want to know.” 

“Yeah, but you did feel you had to knock me out and drag me to some abandoned building to get it out of me. Seems like it’s not something I’m gonna wanna tell ya.” 

There’s no way to know it with the mask, but he thinks the man smiles. 

“You got a name to go with that mask?” Steve asks. Interrupts, really, because it’s not _his_ interrogation here. He knows it rattles people, having him mouth off at them when they should have the upper hand. “Friend or not, you can still call me Steve by the way—” 

The blow isn’t unexpected, but it still hurts. Steve’s been punched more than his fair share of times, and this one takes him back. This isn’t some for hire goon that figured he’d make a name trying to take out Captain America. This guy is _strong_ , strong enough that Steve’s teeth rattle a bit and he can taste blood. Just one punch

“I am the Winter Soldier,” the man says. “Do not speak again unless it is to answer my questions.” 

“Fair enough,” he says and spits out a mouthful of blood. 

That earns him a backhanded slap that has him swinging on his chains. 

“Right right.” He licks his busted lip. “No talking.” 

Steve takes a few more punches, mostly to his gut, before he’s actually winded enough to shut up. 

The Winter Soldier fists his hair and pulls his head back to expose his neck. With the knife pressed against it, Steve figures he may as well let the man ask his damn question. He doesn’t even know what he’s getting himself beaten for, 

“Tell me about James Barnes. Who was he?” 

And it shouldn’t, but the question _guts_ him. It’s out of nowhere, dredging up all this shit he thought he’d left behind in the 40s. It’s not that Bucky’s death can’t still hurt him—it can and it does with a regularity he doesn’t like to think too much on—it’s more that he’s unprepared for anyone to _care_ enough to bring it up.

“What?” he asks, beyond caring that his voice wavers and that tears threaten to spill. 

“James Barnes,” the Soldier repeats. “You knew him.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks, all of the fight suddenly draining out of him. “I knew him.” 

The knife presses more firmly against his skin. He feels it cut his skin, the drop of blood that slides down his neck. 

“Who was he?”

Who was he!? Steve could sooner hold the sun in his hands than describe everything Bucky was. 

“He was my best friend,” Steve says mechanically. It barely scratches the surface, but it’s public knowledge, it’s fair game. He can share that without sharing anything at all, without compromising all that was Bucky to a mercenary like this. 

The Soldier nods. “What type of man was he?” 

Steve swallows and tries to look away, but the knife’s still there, urging answers out of him. And really, it’s not like it takes much for Steve to start talking once he starts. 

“He was… he was _good_. He was kind and stood up for people who deserved it. Stood up for me even when I didn’t. He was the type of guy everybody loved to be around. All the dames were in love with him, all the guys wanted to be him…” His heart lurches in his chest and he closes his eyes to stem the flow of tears. “He was brave. Damn good sniper and soldier. Damn good friend, too. Don’t know where I’d be without him, don’t know who I’d be… Wouldn’t be Captain America, that’s for damned sure. Fuck, I miss him…” 

And then the Soldier moves, something as simple as pulling the knife away and letting go of Steve’s hair. He steps back, and Steve jerks worse than if he’d been hit again. The words spilled out of him, and for a moment he forgot where he was and the circumstances of his trip down memory lane. 

“Why do you care about Bucky?” Steve snarls, his pain making him feral. He fights against his chains, wants to break _something_ , wants to _be_ broken, wants to feel something shattering other than his heart. It shouldn’t feel like it did that day on the train all over again, but it does. He’s raw and cut open and it’s terribly not fair 

The Soldier startles at the name, the only sign that Steve’s managed to rattle him at all. It’s a barely there movement, so little Steve wouldn’t even notice except they’re so close, the light cascading around him like a damn spotlight. 

“What happened to Barnes?” 

“You can’t read that in a fucking book?” Steve snaps. He might be one of the few people still alive who knew Bucky, but he cannot for the life of him figure out why anyone would go to the trouble of kidnapping and torturing information out of him that they could find in plenty of other places. “He died, asshole. We were on a mission and Bucky _died_ . He fell off a fucking train and _I lost him_.” 

_I’ve been lost ever since,_ he adds. _A part of me died, too._

_There’s a reason I crashed that damn ship._

If the Soldier notices any of his internal turmoil, he ignores it. Or doesn’t care.

“What did they do to Barnes in Azzano?” 

If Steve thought this couldn’t get any worse, well, he was wrong. 

It’s a question he asked Bucky himself tons of times, but never got a straight answer. Bucky dismissed it like it was nothing, like the scars weren’t evidence of him being some lab experiment. Those bastards dared touch him, made him wake up screaming from nightmares months after he was free, and still he refused to say a damn word about it. 

“I don’t know,” he says through gritted teeth, the worst admission yet. It feels like a failure even now that Bucky couldn’t trust him with that.

The Soldier nods minutely, easy acceptance of one of Steve’s hardest truths. “Was he working with Hydra?”

And that’s it, that’s too far.

Steve lunges forward so hard he nearly rips the chains from the ceiling. He’s not 100% yet, and he’s sure that’s the only reason he’s still restrained at all right now. 

“You—How _dare_ you—If Bucky were here—Let me go and ask me that again, you son of a bitch—They _killed_ him!“ 

The Soldier is unimpressed with his incoherent threats. 

“Why did Hydra want him then? Why would they take him? What value was he to them?” 

“He’s not a _thing_ , jackass. Bucky was a _person_ , so don’t you _dare_ —” 

“Who the fuck is Bucky? Why do you keep calling me that?” 

“Bucky’s—” Steve’s brain short circuits for a moment. “Calling… _you!?_ ” He squints as he tries to see through the black of the Soldier’s goggles. “Who are you…?” 

The Soldier doesn’t answer. “Is that his name? Was that Barnes’ name?” 

“I don’t…” Confusion wars with something a lot like hope in his chest. He quashes it before it can ruin him. “Take off the mask.” 

He takes a step back, putting more space between them. His hand goes to the mask, an unconscious movement that he stops before he can do what Steve asked. 

“No. I need to know—” 

“I don’t care,” Steve says, and he finds himself leaning forward as far as the chains will let him. “Lemme see. I ain’t telling you shit til I see your face.” 

They stare at each other, the minutes ticking by. Steve means it, he won’t say another damn word until he knows what the fuck is going on. He’s a stubborn bastard when he needs to be, and lacking any other opportunities to die for Bucky, he’ll die on this hill on Bucky’s behalf. 

When the Soldier’s hands come up to remove the mask, Steve’s heart stops. He pulls one shaky breath of air in and can’t seem to figure out how to let it go, lives on that one breath as he watches a stranger with trembling hands reveal the face of his closest friend. 

“Bucky,” he whispers in awe. He’s died, he’s sure of that. Whoever got him in that alley, they killed him. He’s either in heaven or hell, but there’s no way he’s lucky enough to be alive right now with Bucky alive and _right there_. 

“I’m not him,” the Soldier whispers back. Without the mask distorting the sound, it’s impossible not to know it’s Bucky. That voice haunts Steve’s dreams regularly, of fucking course he’d know it in real life, not more than a few feet in front of him. “Hydra cut him out of me a long time ago.” 

It’s agony to hear it, to know Bucky’s been alive this whole time and _needed_ Steve to come rescue him. If not Steve, then who? 

No one, which is how they ended up here, staring at each other across seventy years of lost time when they should’ve been there for each other but weren’t. 

“You’re him,” Steve reassures him. Even if he’s just a lost soldier wearing Bucky’s face, there’s gotta be something left of Bucky buried somewhere in there. Steve’s willing to bet his life on it, and he’s equally willing to spend the time helping to dig him out. “Why would you come to me if you weren’t him?” 

“You’re the only one alive who has answers,” Bucky says. 

Bucky looks like a lost puppy, enough that Steve believes that _he_ believes that’s why he sought out Steve. Whatever Hydra did to him, it started in Azzano and it never really ended there, did it? They got their hands on him when Steve wasn’t looking, and they finished tearing him apart and putting him back together the way they liked. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says around a sob. “I’m so sorry I let them hurt you. I didn’t know—” 

“Don’t,” Bucky snaps, the first real sign of anger. It’s beautiful, if only because it’s _human_ ; Bucky’s been a fucking machine so far, detached from everything. It makes Steve hope all the more. 

“Buck—” And now, without the mask, he can see the way the old nickname cuts through him. “I’ll say it until it means something, but I’m so fucking sorry.” 

His hand tenses around his knife before it falls useless to the floor. When he strides over to Steve, it’s with purpose. There isn’t even the slightest bit of fear in him; whatever Bucky wants to do to him, he’ll accept it without question. 

When he crashes their lips together, well, it’s not what he was expecting, but Steve greedily kisses him back. 

“You used to be smaller,” Bucky says as his thumb traces the curve of Steve’s bottom lip. 

“I did,” Steve confirms, his lips twitching into a smile. 

“I remember that better.” 

He would, wouldn’t he? Steve was smaller a lot longer than he’s been like this, and if things are even a tenth as bad as Steve imagines they’ve been… 

Well, he’s glad Bucky remembers anything at all.

“I’ll tell you,” he says. He leans into Bucky’s touch and kisses his hand. It’s cold, he notices, and hard. He pulls away and sees metal. Internally he freaks out, but he holds back the expletives and promises of fiery vengeance. They don’t belong here, not now. So instead he turns his attention back to Bucky. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Come back home with me? Let me take care of you?” 

Bucky frowns at the offer. He stares at Steve, his eyes wandering over Steve’s face like he’s looking for an answer there. It’s not exactly easy, but Steve waits patiently. As much as he wants Bucky around, Steve has no right to force it. 

“Okay,” Bucky finally says. 

“Okay,” Steve says back. He’s smiling wide now, unable to contain his happiness. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **bonus scene:**  
>  **steve:** so are you like... gonna let me down??  
>  **bucky:** wtf kind of super soldier are you, you can't even break out of those chains?  
>  **steve:**  
>  **steve:**  
>  **steve:**  
>  **steve:** well, you're definitely bucky so i guess that's something  
> and they lived happily ever after, storming every hydra base they could find. the end.


End file.
